Goddammit
by riversrunthroughme
Summary: Wow," said Jimmy, eyeing the Winchesters. "You guys suck." /set post 5x14/ A story in which Castiel goes AWOL, Lucifer is hunting down a certain radio ad-time salesman, angels are everywhere, and Jimmy fends for himself surprisingly goddamn well.
1. in the name of thier false war

**Goddammit**

_A Jimmy Novak story._

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**_Prologue_**

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_Carelessness. _

_It has never been one of his vices, but it seems it will cost him everything… or whatever is left of the everything he's given up previously. _

_The pain that rips through him comes from behind. It's a shredding sensation that begins over his shoulders in the ephemeral (his wings) and shocks like an electrical current through his vessel. He's screaming, but with his True voice and the earth quakes with his agony. Then he slams into and is pinned to the wall. He's crying out against a sort of shock and terror not known since Raphael tore him asunder and his hands snap back to grasp the razor of snowy stone punched through his wings. The shards glow hellish red and blister his vessel's hands to the bone, sears the prints – intricate, beautifully detailed swirls of individuality – off his fingers, chars his palms with a smell like cooking meat but he doesn't stop because he must, he __**must**__ get free._

"_You cannot remove them. Your caste is too low."_

_He tries anyway. He pours power like glacial water down his arms into his hands and he grasps one of the shards – _**_Feathers. He used his own feathers. Only his would be white…_**_ – pinning him in the physical and spiritual realm. With a snarl he rips one free, slices a deep groove into Jimmy's phalange bones. Blood soaks everything. Coats his hand in liquid red. His throat has already been cut. The pain is unbelievable (is beyond the physical) and he cannot conceive of removing another one. He cannot comprehend doing it one more time (There are five more,) even to save himself. ("Hey, Happymeal." "__Oh my God- er- uh- I didn't mean to- sorry. It's an honor, really.__") He grabs another anyway and ignores the white hot fire that incinerates his hands and sends spiral bursts of bloody cold through his grace. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. He cannot stop._

"_Loyalty." The enemy says it again with the same soft admiration as in Carthage, Missouri. "Yours is astoundingly sad. How many times will the Winchesters take your life?"_

_He wrenches another feather free. It clatters as a silver blade to the floor as his mind blanks with shock. There is heat in cold. There is pleasure with agony. His whole being is vibrating itself to pieces to get away from the pain. He cannot stop. He cannot stop. Hecannotstop. When he comes to, he's staring at his hands: the devastated black and bloody raw ruin of Jimmy's palms. He's hanging off the wall like a ruined tapestry, tethered up by invisible cords of electricity that are rooted in his grace but pinned spread and burning to the wall behind him. From every point of penetration rivers of fire course._

_The body of Nick Marshall (age 36, wife and child both murdered, born of a bad bloodline) is standing before him. The enemy's gaze even through Nick's now cataract-grayed eyes is infinitely sympathetic. When he looks at him, he's hypnotic, reassuring and beautiful. His expression holds all the love of a brother for another and he can trust him, he can trust him if anyone – but this is a lie because his rotting eyes are utterly empty and pitiless, full of wrath and hatred, the blackest most all consuming pride and horror. He sees the Fall in his stare, quivering black shafts of heat and damnation: the howling rage that will know no satiation. _

_The enemy touches his vessel's face. "I did give you a chance, brother."_

"_You will __**never**__ find them."_

_A small smile. "I will. All of them. But their trials are not yours anymore. Be at peace."_

"_You know nothing of my trials," the angel growls. "Go to hell."_

_Which is exactly when Lucifer punches his fist through Castiel's chest and rips out his grace. _

_(And for an instant, around his neck, a small metal amulet burns white hot.)_

_And a star falls in Austin, Missouri. _

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_**part i:**_ _in the name of their false war_

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When he opens his eyes there are three demons grinning down at him and Jimmy thinks, immediately, something is off. Since when does Mr. Thursday let him see anything during a fight? Typically the angel is exceptionally good at keeping Jimmy separate from what happens to his body (not always of course. He knows the feel of a blade punched through his ribs, hot bullets in his belly, and – once – being nuked by an archangel) so this is strange. He waits a split second for Castiel to pull him away from the surface again, put him under and let him sleep through this ordeal like he always does, to be unaware…

And then one of the girl demons grabs him by the hair.

"OW! Gah!"

"Aww! Poor baby. Did that hurt? I'm sorry, I'll kiss it and make it better," croons the blonde bombshell mockingly, dragging him across the dirty gymnasium floor. They are in what looks like an abandoned school. Filthy banners for the 'Austin Angels' hang in sagging bows from the walls. The windows are blasted mouths of glass teeth, the bleachers blown apart like they've been plowed by a series of poorly driven semi trucks. The blonde's fake nails are drawing blood on his scalp. The other demons are howling.

The shock gets him before the fear. The disbelief that this is happening to him _again _because – Chrissake – if your resident angel drops the ball once on the whole possession thing, that's understandable but twice is pushing his limited human patience. He has a fraction of a second between thunderous heartbeats to be annoyed with his supposed guardian hijacker… and then he realizes – like a bomb dropping into his skull – that he is alone in a room with three demons.

'_Oh shit…'_

They throw him on his stomach at the free throw line and he scrambles to his feet, aware suddenly of dirt and blood that isn't his (or is his, but from injuries he no longer has) streaking his face, his hands, his clothes. Heaven's dry cleaners are closed apparently or Cas didn't have time for it. Speaking of… '_Where the hell is he?'_ The demons are leering, circling him in a manner that makes him think strongly of hyenas, sends blood thrumming faster through him. The blonde girl is laving her lip-gloss with her tongue. Jimmy can feel his pulse in his finger tips. His body is charged with hyperawareness, every nerve buzzing.

"Where's Castiel?" he manages.

The trio sneers at him, repeating his question back in leery whiny tones. "Oooh! Where's Castiel! Castiel! Ehhh! Poor baby! No Castiel!" They laugh, mouths gaping hideously, a little too wide, baring too much teeth. A man who could be a high school math teacher chortles and steps menacingly forward. His eyes are opaque black. "Your cloud-hopper isn't here, meat suit. It's just you and us and God." His cohorts shriek, falling against each other with laughter and Jimmy's stomach pitches violently. "You can pray if you like. We'll give you a few minutes to get the Big Guy to smite us."

Anger spikes through him, interrupting the fear; disrupts it long enough for him to demand, "What did you _do_ to Castiel?"

The Professor's hand snaps out so fast Jimmy doesn't see it until it wraps around his throat. The vessel's breath smells like Listerine as he clenches Jimmy's windpipe. "Don't play dumb," he snarls. "I know that's difficult given your condition, but this is your one moment to shine, kiddo." He shakes Jimmy so hard his teeth come together on this tongue, drawing blood. "So c'mon!" Shakes him again. "_Shine_! Where the hell is your heavenly co-pilot, eh? Where's he gone?"

He lets Jimmy go at last so he can breathe. He coughs wildly, clutching his throat and panics a little because _he has no idea what they're talking about_.

The Professor gets in his face again, hissing, "Tell us how he did it."

"Did what?" Jimmy demands hoarsely.

_Crack_! The blow whites out the vision in his right eye as the Professor plows his fist into Jimmy's face and he staggers sideways. _'Ow! God!'_ He clutches the side of his face as the red pain throbs through the bones of his skull. The demons aren't laughing any more. They are standing around him, faces blank, eyes full of sick black slick and radiating menace that makes every nerve in his body tighten in sick anticipation: the calcium bands of his ribs snapped, eyes full of blood, skin grated, bone ripped from roots of bone… He clenches his eyes shut briefly and swallows his fear.

"I don't know what you want."

"We want you to tell us where your buddy winged off to after Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn?"

_Crack_! For a moment Jimmy can't see or hear anything, just the ringing whine of the impact. There's too much blood in his mouth, a salty metal fluid and he spits it on the floor. "I don't understand what you want!" he shouts, vision still shattered by lights. "Castiel didn't tell me! I don't _know_ anything!"

Someone moves in close, puts her face near his and when his vision clears she looks like a soccer mom; smells like cheap Pantene when she leans into his ear to breathe horrible things.

"He left you alone, Jimmy." His own name shocks him for some reason, make his breath hitch. "He broke his promise."

"There is no point in protecting him." The Professor. "Save yourself, kid."

Soccer Mom grabs chin, twitches his head to look at her. "None of this has to hurt, Jimmy." The fear is so powerful it makes his body ache from it. "Just tell us what you know."

"I'm… I'm not telling you anything," he says bravely.

That goes as well as he suspected. Someone grabs him and suddenly he is on his back, the Professor pinning his wrists over his head, Soccer Mom between his knees, the third demon – the Blonde Bombshell – looking on. Her smile is too wide, impossibly wide, distorting her face in a hideous glee that makes Jimmy's heart seize and his whole body electrify with terror. An adrenal catalyst reaction that makes him buck and thrash frantically to zero effect. His belly plunges. He can't move, or breathe, or think because _theyaregoingtofuckingkillme _he can't get his body to unclench. Soccer Mom rucks up his dress shirt beneath his jacket and overcoat, leans her body between his legs and jerks at the clasp of his belt. His mind freezes, jams on the impossible horror of this. _Nonothisisn'thappening_. The Blonde croons:

"We're gonna fuck you, baby. Then we're gonna _gut_ you. We're gonna split you wide open while you breathe." _Lord God, please help me. Please. God._ "We're gonna put out those pretty blue eyes. We're gonna skin you piece by piece. We're gonna see what makes you tick, but you remember: we gave you a chance to stop this." She's smiling. "Are you praying, baby? Go on. You can do it out loud if you want. Futility makes my wet."

"Go to hell," Jimmy says clearly.

Soccer Mom reels back and punches him in the face. Then while the stars are burning novas into his eyes, she drops an elbow into his stomach. The pain doubles him up, but Soccer Mom and Professor drag his body flat. The Blonde stomps her tennis shoe into his midriff once, twice, begins a vicious frenzy of blows. He can't breathe through the pain and the bile. The toe of her Converse plows into his right temple; knocks the universe loose in his skull and stars spin crazy orbits in his aching brain. When everything realigns itself, the Blonde is sitting on his chest with her mouth pressed to his.

"Nnn," he protests ineffectively.

"Just enjoy it, sweetie," she breathes. Her lip gloss is sticky. It smears as she runs a wanton tongue across his mouth. Tastes of cheap sugar. "You want it. How long's it been? Over a year since you dicked that Amelia bitch you're hitched to. Angel running around in your skin, how long's it been since someone touched you? This is my _gift_ to you, Jimmy."

"Don't you talk about her!" he growls, hatred rushing through him so intensely it _hurts_. "Don't you _dare_ talk about her!"

"You're so sweet," she murmurs, gripping his chin so he can't head butt her as he'd like. "So loyal. So full of love." She slides her hands under his neck, holds his eyes forward so he has to meet her gaze. Her touch makes his skin crawl. "And they took it from you. Took everything from you. Your wife. Your daughter. Your future. Your autonomy. Everything you love they ripped away from you in the name of their false war and now tell me, Jimmy, where does that leave you but utterly fucked?" Her tone changes, becomes soothing. "But we can change that, Jimmy. _Our_ father answers prayers. _Our_ father walks the earth. Just tell us where Castiel is and our orders are to let you go. You can even go back to your family, Jimmy. Our creator will provi –"

He spits in her pretty/ugly face.

She backhands him for this, but seeing how she's offering him an accord with _Lucifer_, Jimmy has zero trouble making that decision. Frayed as his faith is, making deals with Satan he hasn't gotten real foggy about. Seriously, who falls for contracts with _demons_? He resumes struggling if for no other reason than the principle of the act. The Blonde hits him until he stops – light and dark spots reeling in his vision – then kisses him again, so hard his lip splits on a stray incisor and he thinks this is really it. After nearly two years having given everything, for a cause he knew nothing of save the limited expositions of his sometimes captor, he is going to die on the floor of a dirty gymnasium, left nothing, not even his dignity.

It doesn't seem fair.

As he stares at the ceiling, listless with shock, he wonders who will help the Winchesters now.

And then there's a sound. At first it's like an ambulance in the distance, like a siren. Then it builds, amps, shudders and becomes a terrible noise that he recognizes to be a voice, but is only a single, long, loud, piercing scream of triumphant rage. He covers his head just as the gym doors blow off their hinges. The demons shriek and a girl with black hair busts through the entrance looking like a hurricane in jeans and heels. Her eyes don't glow, but they smolder. Even in the dim light of the room she darkens the walls with the nimbus of wings spread against the windows. Her voice actually makes the air shudder and is touched with a hint of her True voice, the one that sounds like music and thunder.

"You have two choices. You can let him go or I can roast you alive in your meat suits."

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**Edit: **_Originally this was two chapters... then I realized that was dumb and condensed it to one. So no, you're not crazy. I am. Anyway, we're still on for Jimmy-related shenanigans and the Winchesters being baffled.__  
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	2. I have an angel and she's a psychopath

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_**part ii:** I have an angel and she's a psychopath_

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'_Great I have an angel and she's a psychopath,'_ thinks Jimmy. Not that he isn't grateful having someone in the room who doesn't want to fuck and skin him screaming, it's just that pretty much any cloud hopper outside of Castiel isn't anyone he wants to meet particularly. That said, Jimmy likes his odds better with an angel in the room so he chooses that moment to grab Professor's arm and duck forward, dragging the vessel over his shoulders and bowling him into Bombshell's back. He goes down in a tumble with them, their screams of indignation and hate deafeningly loud. He twists sideways and kicks away from the demon pig-pile, nails the Bombshell in the throat.

The angel _descends _on the demons. She flashes across the room too fast to follow, grabs Bombshell and slams her palm against her forehead, igniting the girl's eyes and rocketing beams of blinding white from the orifices of her skull. There is a terrible shriek and the body drops to the dirty gym floor. But while she is dealing with that Jimmy has only managed to get away from the first two demons. Soccer Mom comes barreling from the left and tackles him to the floor, snarling like an animal. She grabs him by the arm and _throws_ him into the bleachers like he weighs nothing.

He slams into the broken wooden paneling and crashes straight through them. As one can imagine, this feels positively _awesome_ and Jimmy is left sprawled under the brittle woodwork, unable to move. His head is full of hot cicada buzzing. His face feels numb. Groaning, he rolls onto his side, his body sending bursts of pain like fireworks through his brain. His left side is a spiderwebbed network of heat and crunching flares and the effort of moving is so great he just falls limp on the floor again, forehead pressed into the dirt. He cannot breathe.

"Jimmy."

Jimmy looks up to see the angel peering down at him through the hole in the bleachers. "You're hurt."

"Don't touch me," Jimmy mumbles, crawling away from her.

She cocks her head, that bird-like little quirk that all the angels seem, on some level or another, to share: the split second of inhuman puzzlement, an alien thing looking through human eyes. Jimmy tastes bitter sweet fluid and realizes, seeing the dark liquid spots in the dust, that his mouth is full of blood. The angel clambers through the hole in the seating. She is going to give him magic hands and heal him, but for some reason the possibility of a touch from this angel just makes him want to crawl his broken ribs away faster. She doesn't feel like an answer to prayer.

She looked mildly annoyed. "You are bleeding internally."

"Yeah." He spits blood. (He sells ad time for AM radio.) "I noticed." (He shouldn't be here.)

She ignores his protest this time and presses a hand to the side of his head. There is a sort of 'pop' in reality. A tiny twist in the world. He gasps and the action is free of pain, his lungs allowed to expand without the pressure of broken ribs around them. The angel sits back and surveys him critically before reaching out and gingerly touching his shoulder. It's a contrived motion. Angels don't touch.

"Where is Castiel?"

He stares at her., utterly baffled. "I thought… the angels didn't do this?"

"No." When Jimmy has nothing else to say dark hazel eyes search his face. "You… are protecting him." It's an observation, not a question. "He's been possessing you. He betrayed you. His rebellion resulted in the destruction of your body and for a cause that no longer serves God. Why?"

'_Because I have no idea where he is?'_ He opens his mouth to say something to this effect but what comes out is: "Jael." Which makes no sense until he adds, "Your name is Jael," And tries not to look surprised with himself because he has no idea where that came from.

She tilts her head in that weird sparrow quirk. "You know me," Jael says in the same tone someone might say 'Fascinating' about a mouse in a maze. "You shouldn't know the mind of the one who possesses you. Not unless Castiel is getting chatty… which find difficult to believe. He was never one to share his mind, even with those of us he knew best." She reaches out and grabs his arm above the elbow and not gently. "Clearly you have retained information."

A spark of fear needles through him. "Let go of me."

She ignores him and leads him out onto the basketball court. "What do you remember?"

"Nothing! I woke up here with the demons. You should have asked them."

"I did. They were uncooperative."

Jimmy is incredulous. "Because you made their heads blow off!"

"I gave them their chance," she said and turns Jimmy to face her. Her expression is horrifically blank. "As I am giving you your chance. Where is Castiel?"

"I don't know."

"How did you know my name?"

"I don't know."

"Don't lie to me," she says calmly, eerily, and that's when he knows that she cannot read his mind: because he really doesn't know.

"I don't know anything," he says desperately. Part of him knows it's pointless but he adds, "Just let me go. There's nothing I can do for you."

"You are a vessel," she retorts, utterly tranquil. "If you remember nothing, your bloodline will be utilized by a more worthy brother."

And Jimmy's internal organs blink out of his existence in his belly. He chokes. "_What_?"

"You are free of Castiel's presence, Jimmy Novak, faithful servant. You may now serve God truly again."

"No." It's a kneejerk reaction.

"No?" She sounds genuinely surprised. "You do not wish to return to the noble service of your Lord."

"_You don't serve the lord!"_

The silence that falls is deafening and has physical weight to it. It smells of ozone. Jimmy considers that, perhaps, that wasn't the best thing to say to an angel. (To _this_ angel.) Jael gazes at him with and expression that is somehow _too _blank, too void of emotion as she studies his face and he feels like this is familiar. The crooked cut of her bangs across her brow hides her left eye, but the right sparks briefly with a dangerous glitter: a raw nerve laid bare. It seems impossible, but he actually found something that _bothers_ her. Eventually this too fades and Jael offers him a strange smile and reaches out to cup his face in her hands. He feels like a child, control wrested from him on the basis of 'say-so.'

"I have already called my brother," she says sweetly. "You will see. He is a worthy choice and far superior a guardian."

"You can't," he protests blankly. "You _can't_."

She strokes his hair comfortingly. "Don't worry. Soon these worries will not be yours. Manakel is a great warrior. Give your consent."

"No!" he cries as the windows begin to shudder. He can hear his name, the syllables shot through with song and static. "No! You can't, dammit! I said _no_! Do you understand? I'm saying 'no'!"

"For now," she says simply.

It is a testament to his stupidity that he feels betrayal. Jimmy yanks his face away from Jael's gentle touch and she watches him run away from her with a curious disinterest. It's not like he can ran fast enough. She doesn't even stop him when he sprints toward the gymnasium doors, she just flicks a hand and the doors slam shut, trapping him. He rams uselessly against the crash bar, bangs his fist on the door and screams for anyone to help him. (Like any human could.)

"Castiel!" he shouts. "Castiel, where are you?"

The ground is shaking; the floor boards shiver and groan. Jimmy covers his ears but Manakel's voice in already inside his skull, shivering like pins through his thoughts and it _guts_ him how helpless he is. He's on his knees now, curled against the foot of the double doors. _'God please. Lord. God please. God I'm praying. Help me.'_ There is a presence in the room, hot and heavy as a change in barometric pressure. _'Help me.' _

"_You have nothing to fear."_ Manakel sounds like mountains falling, or artillery rounds exploding in his brain. His eyes hurt. His bones ache. His muscles cramp and he thinks Castiel never felt like this. Cas was like heavy rain and distant thunder; _this_ son-of-a-bitch (not God) is like an M-16 going off. _"James Novak, be unafraid."_

"Too late!" he shouts back, laughing hysterically because it isn't fair. None of this is fair. Even when he said 'yes' gave up everything, did it twice, it doesn't matter because no one was watching or protecting or helping because… because… He can't make himself curse God because pathetic as it seems He is the last solid – oxymoronic – hope he has left. So Jimmy prays while the gym shakes itself apart, falls forward on one hand and – _Ow! God!_ Cuts his palm on a shard of broken glass? Are you serious? The wound gushes blood furiously, a jag of wet pain racing up his wrist to his shoulder and this makes Jimmy so fucking mad he can't see straight. "You are kidding me!" he screams and Jael cocks her head and the Manakel – who is trying to crush his brain like a soda can – ignores him. "Unbelievable! Totally… just… _Goddammit_!"

Then there is a click, like a light coming on in a dark spot in his head and suddenly he clearly sees…

Jimmy clenches his hand, ignores the pain and uncurls his fingers sopped in liquid red. Then he turns to the door and draws a bloody ring on the chipped metal. There is so much blood running from the gash it take just one stroke to leave a glistening circle then he works on the functionary sigil in the center. Jael sees this and emits a very unangelic noise of rage. Doesn't matter because Jimmy's hands are moving like he's done this a thousand times – thousands of an uncounted hundred thousand times – and he finishes the Sigil of Banishment just as her hand closes on his shoulder. He slams his palm against the centre of the rune.

Energy snaps up his arm from the point of impact against his hand, a crackle like a live current zips through his fingertips and blows through him into the room. It doesn't hurt him – it kind of feels like winds rushing though his blood or a G tone in his skeleton – but it sure as hell does something to the angels. It blasts Jael's hand off him and throws her back. She staggers, thrashes and jerks and twitches like a Huntington's patient and the gym ignites with lightening but there is no strike. Jael is bleached white in a burst of photonegative, the room screams, the gym bends inward like it will collapse… then snaps back into place and suddenly she and Manakel are gone.

The room is empty.

Jimmy collapses against the foot of the double doors and slumps there, still bleeding, and let his mind blank gloriously because he's safe. Somehow. Impossibly…

And hears someone clapping? Jimmy looks up to his immediate right and sees a man in an Armani suit standing, smiling and putting his hands together like a man beginning a standing ovation. Jimmy didn't hear him open the door and never saw him enter. He exudes something ugly. It poisons the air like sulfur. "Bravo, Jimbo," says the man in a confusing British accent. "That was brilliant. Didn't think those tossers would ever get out of it. Good show. Now." His grin becomes dualistic, underlain with _intent_. "Why don't you come with me?"

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_**Author's Note: **Well this is just not going well for our intrepid hero is it? Who is the man in the Armani suit? Why is he here? Where's Cas? And, of course, when will the Winchesters be joining the party? Reviews inspire the mind. _


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